


Consecrated Burns

by the_pen_is_mightier



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Fluff with feelings, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-02 14:01:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20277058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_pen_is_mightier/pseuds/the_pen_is_mightier
Summary: At the Ritz after their respective trials, Aziraphale realizes something about Crowley's experience in Heaven.





	Consecrated Burns

**Author's Note:**

> This is a shorter-form fic from my tumblr @whatawriterwields. Enjoy!

“What’s that?”

Aziraphale’s tone was mild, curious, and Crowley didn’t immediately process what he was talking about. The atmosphere of the Ritz was quiet, easy, and calm, and the trial he’d just come away from seemed less real in this moment than the smiling angel in front of him. So he simply let his gaze follow Aziraphale’s down to his own wrist. 

When he saw that, in lifting his glass of champagne, he’d let his sleeve fall incrementally back, the tranquility vanished. Quickly he lowered his hand and pulled his sleeve over it again. “Ah. Nothing.”

Aziraphale frowned. “I thought I saw...”

“It’s nothing.” His hand clenched convulsively. Aziraphale shouldn’t see. Gabriel and the others hadn’t seen, he’d concealed it from them, and now no one would ever have to know. It didn’t matter anyway; it barely hurt anymore, and by morning the marks would likely have faded.

But Aziraphale reached a hand toward him. “Crowley?”

Crowley looked up, his eyes locking with the angel’s. Without meaning to he’d drawn his arms in, a defensive posture, and his shoulders were tensed. Aziraphale’s expression was concerned. No, he wasn’t supposed to be concerned, the point was that Aziraphale didn’t have to worry - Crowley tried hard to force a smile onto his face, but it didn’t feel at all convincing, and only deepened the angel’s frown. 

He sighed and extended his hand again. “It’s nothing important. Look.”

Aziraphale pushed back Crowley’s sleeve an inch. Crowley’s eyes stayed in his lap, but he heard Aziraphale’s soft gasp at what Crowley knew he could see - the red, chafing marks from where the angels had bound his wrists to the arms of that holy chair. Crowley could, at least, draw comfort from the fact that the pain of that contact hadn’t actually been intended for Aziraphale - it was only because he was a demon that it had burned him. 

“My dear,” Aziraphale whispered, “why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, still staring down. 

_“Crowley.”_

The word was not an admonishment, not tinged with any edge of exasperation. If it had been Crowley could have laughed, lightened the mood, and told Aziraphale to stop being so fussy. But Aziraphale’s voice was unbearably tender. His fingers were gentle as they caressed Crowley’s wrist. His eyes, when Crowley met them again, were filled with a softness for which he was entirely unprepared. 

Crowley swallowed. “Doesn’t - doesn’t matter, angel. I did it to protect you.”

He’d spent centuries watching and cataloguing Aziraphale’s smiles, from the small, nervous ones that had characterized their early clandestine meetings to the ones so wide and bright Crowley had felt they outshone the sun. But he’d never seen a smile like this. He’d never seen Aziraphale’s eyes shine with unreserved, untempered love - not for him. And certainly he’d never felt the angel’s lips brush the sensitive skin over his veins, soothing the angry red marks like the touch of a cool breeze. 

“My darling,” Aziraphale murmured. “It matters.” 

Crowley’s heart spasmed in his chest. He was so _beautiful._

Aziraphale reached out the hand not cradling Crowley’s and brushed a lock of hair from Crowley’s forehead, his fingers lingering for a moment, his gaze still warm. “Thank you.” 

Crowley leaned into the angel’s touch and let his eyes close for a moment, savoring the vulnerability, the feel of Aziraphale’s hands, his closeness. He let a smile tug around the corners of his own mouth. He could get used to this: Aziraphale’s unbound affection, after so long held back by Heaven. After millennia of manipulation by the other angels, Aziraphale free and open and at peace. He could get used to feeling taken care of. 

“I’d do it again,” said Crowley, eyes still shut. “I’d do it a million times for you.” 

Aziraphale’s lips met his, briefly, chastely. Crowley felt his face go pink, but he couldn’t restrain his smile anymore. 

“I love you, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. “I love you too.”


End file.
